


Mourning

by TurtleNovas



Series: Amelioration [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Human/Animal Bond, Season 1 & 2 canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNovas/pseuds/TurtleNovas
Summary: Dustin misses Dart more than he thought.  Steve comforts him.





	Mourning

He's cleaning his room, because it's been weeks since he's done it, and his mom is starting to get that look in her eye, like the disciplinarian might come out to play if he doesn't get his act together, and he's just so not interested in that kind of heat right now. Steve is supposed to come over later, to help him study for a big test tomorrow (but it's really just to hang out), and then he's staying for dinner. It's only been a few weeks since...everything, but somehow, the whole thing with the concussion and Steve staying over, and also Steve basically saving his life several times over before that, has made it seem like he's been around forever, always there to drop in and check on Dustin when he needs it, or hang out with him and his mom and make their house a little brighter than it would be with just the two of them. Dustin isn't too fussed that it's already hard to remember a time when he didn't have anyone like that around, doesn't want to think about it for too long, or else he might convince himself it'll only be temporary, until Steve gets back on his feet and regains his cool status at school, or remembers how weird and lame Dustin really is.

When he comes across one of his library books, half shoved under his bed, wedged between an action figure and a dirty sock, he panics for a second. He had forgotten about the paddles incident, about how he'd run out of the library with five books in his arms that were basically stolen. He cringes thinking about the kind of scolding he's going to get from the librarian when he brings all ten of them back in, all overdue (or at least, they would be if he'd actually checked them out legally). He can only hope that she doesn't revoke his library privileges.

Excuses are already whirling through his mind, one after another as he goes on the hunt for the rest of the books. Most of what he thinks up are blatant lies, and he purposefully puts them aside, tired of all the lies he's already telling, not ready to set himself up for more. He doesn't like lying, because it's exhausting and it makes him feel sick and guilty, even when he has a really good reason. If he has to, he'll just take his punishment and try renting from the public library instead.

 _Eastern Reptiles and Amphibians_ is hiding in the corner, obscured by the towel he'd used to cover his terrarium for Dart, and he picks it up slowly, as if it might burn him if he touches it too quickly. He holds it loosely in his hands, fingers brushing delicately over the rough texture of the cover, the simple gold lettering. He looks over to Yurtle's terrarium, rigged up from a smaller tank they'd had sitting in the garage, and he barely notices that it's becoming harder to breathe the longer he stares.

It seems almost absurd how, just a few short weeks ago, that space had been occupied by something completely different - something that had brought Dustin the kind of joy and excitement that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He'd had a _discovery_ on his hands; and not only that, but he'd made a new friend in the process. It had been wondrous, and it had made Dustin feel as if he was at the center of something great and important, not just to have found a new species, but to have found a helpless thing that needed him to survive - something that trusted him and cared for him as much as he did it.

He hears the quiet, creaking sound of the book straining under the tightening pressure of his hands, but can't bring his mind around to acknowledge his own movement. He knows, _he knows_ that it was wrong of him to keep Dart after they'd realized what he was, and yet, when he tries to summon up regret, he only wishes he'd been able to protect his friend when the gate had closed. Everyone had said that he was evil, had thought he wanted to kill them, but Dustin had seen. He'd seen the way Dart stood at the emergency exit on the bus and didn't attack, didn't even growl until Steve threatened him. Dustin knew it was no coincidence that Dart had let them pass in the tunnels, is sure that, even without the nougat, he could've convinced the little guy with a strong enough apology.

Dart _was_ his friend, and had loved Dustin just as much as Dustin loved him.

Dustin thinks about what happened to Dart, then. He thinks about the way Hopper had described the demodogs falling from the walls, shriveling into dried up husks after El closed the gate. He thinks of Dart, enjoying his candy bar, happy to have let Dustin and his friends pass, unaware that Dustin was helping to murder him at that very moment. He never saw Dart's body, but he can imagine with vivid clarity the sight of him slumped over, candy strewn around his head, body wilted and desiccated, his cute yellow butt spot shrunken and brown, and suddenly, he's very aware that breathing isn't a thing that's working out for him right now.

He drops the book with force, feeling like he has to pry each finger loose to be able to let it go, and curls tightly in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and burying his face there. It doesn't make breathing any easier, but he thinks it probably quiets the sound of the sobs hitching out of him, gurgling up into his mouth like puke as snot begins pouring out of his nose. His eyes are on fire with what feels like a solid, hot sheet of tears.

He's not sure how long he's been sitting like that, heaving and gagging around the realization that he killed something that he swore to protect. He just knows that his sleeves and the knees of his jeans are sopping wet, and his face is burning, the skin raw with the salt of tears and cold slime of his snot. He thinks he should get up, change clothes, continue tidying up so that when Steve gets here, everything looks normal, and no one will ever find out that Dustin feels guilty and sad over the wrong thing. Instead he just hugs himself tighter, bites down hard on one of his denim covered knees, and tries to keep the sobs from welling up again.

* * *

 

Claudia greets Steve in a rush when he arrives, pulling open the door and dragging him inside with a kiss to the cheek before spinning away back towards the kitchen. "I've got to watch the stove, but you can just go on back to Dusty's room. He's cleaning up right now."

"Okay, thanks!" He calls after her, unable to keep a smile off his face.

He knocks lightly on Dustin's door, and doesn't hear an answer, so he pushes it open slowly, averting his gaze just in case as he knocks again. "Dustin?" He asks, but gets no reply. He opens the door fully, then, casting his gaze around the room until it lands on the small, huddled form of Dustin in the far corner, slightly obscured by the dresser with Yurtle's tank on it. His heart stutters and a feeling that he thinks is panic slams through him as he steps into the room, pushing the door shut behind himself as he goes, a thousand scenarios flashing through his mind in an instant, each more gruesome and terrifying than the last.

He's at Dustin's side in a flash, somehow avoiding tripping on any of the mess strewn across the floor in his haste, and he feels dread pressing in all around him when he reaches out to touch Dustin's arm. "Dusty?" he says, heedless of the fact that only Dustin's mom calls him that, hoping it will make him feel safe. "What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Dustin is stirring now, uncurling, but pulling away from Steve in a way that makes him want to scream, because it's wrong, and this is not how Dustin is with him. It's all Steve can do not to grab onto him and pull him closer when he starts rubbing his face obviously into the crook of his arm, trying to scrub at his cheeks. Steve can see now that, while he appears uninjured, Dustin has obviously been crying quite a lot. The knees of his jeans look soaked through, and his face is red and splotchy with obvious tear tracks on his cheeks.

"It's nothing," Dustin says, a stuffy, cry-gritty whisper. "I'm fine. It's nothing."

And that...well that just will not stand with Steve. He reaches out again, takes hold of Dustin's wrist as delicately as he can, and pulls his arm away from his face. "Come on, bud," he says, pouring everything he has into making it come out comforting. God he's always been such shit at stuff like this, but for fuck's sake, he's going to try. "It's not nothing." He scoots a little closer, easing himself down so that he's sitting right next to Dustin. "It's obviously not nothing." He skates his free hand down the length of Dustin's hunched spine, hopes that back rubs really are considered soothing and that doing this isn't just some tv bullshit that won't actually help. He continues doing it regardless, because it's all he has, and it comforts him to feel the shuddery movement of Dustin's breath, to know that he's safe and alive, even if he might be hurting.

Dustin shrugs, let's Steve keep a hold of his wrist, even as he tries to turn his face away. "It's stupid," he whispers. Steve uses his hold to pull him closer, moving his hand from Dustin's back to settle an arm around his shoulders instead.

"I don't know what's wrong, man, but I promise, whatever it is, it's not stupid. You can tell me."

Apparently, these are the magic words, because it's as if a dam has broken, and Dustin comes alive in a rushing flood of movement and anguish. He curls quickly into Steve, wrapping his arms firmly around Steve's torso, and speaking directly into the fabric of his sweater, choking on his words as he starts to weep. Steve doesn't quite understand everything he's saying, muffled as he is by Steve's chest, and his own sobs, but he thinks he hears enough. He picks up, "Not supposed to be sad." And, "Didn't hurt us." And, "Only ate him because I didn't feed him right." And, "He was my friend." And, "Take care of him, I promised." Then it all devolves into a litany, of, "He wasn't bad. He wasn't bad. He wasn't bad." And Dustin is wailing, loud enough that Steve worries Claudia might hear, but Steve isn't about to shush him.

Steve hadn't known, had thought that Dart had just been a way to impress a girl, or an exciting science thing, because Dustin was always into exciting science shit. He feels so fucking stupid for not realizing earlier how much Dustin had cared about Dart. He'd seen the way Dustin had talked to him in the tunnels, had heard the fondness in his voice, and the sadness when he'd turned to say goodbye for the last time. He hugs Dustin tighter, starts rubbing his back again, praying angrily that this really is what you're supposed to do, wishing he could lash out and punish someone for leaving him so desperately ill-equipped for this situation. "It's okay," he says, and hopes it doesn't sound too watery or too heated, doesn't want Dustin to know that he's floundering right now, or that he'd probably be willing to kill a man if it would only make him feel better. "It's okay," he says again. "To be sad," he clarifies, because the rest of this very obviously _isn't_ okay.

He feels Dustin's hands buried in his sweater, his fingers digging roughly into the meat of Steve's back as be pushes his face against the fabric near Steve's armpit and continues to cry. Steve tries to think of more to say, of anything that might be helpful, isn't sure if it's better or worse to stay silent. He decides to try. "I know he was your friend,” he says slowly. “And that, even if everyone else didn't like him, and even if we had no choice, it can still really hurt for him to be gone." Steve looks up at the ceiling, partly because he can't stand to look down and see what a mess Dustin is right now, and partly in deprecation of his own stupidity, because there's no way this is the right thing to say, and he just hopes it's not wrong enough to kill another good relationship in his life. "You're allowed to be sad, Dusty. It's okay."

Dustin doesn't reply, but Steve thinks that it might be okay, because he also isn't going anywhere. He's just sitting, sprawled halfway into Steve's lap, letting Steve rub his back as his bawling peters off into a quiet, sniffling whimper.

It's a very long time before Dustin stirs, and Steve thinks his sweater will probably be permanently wrinkled across the back when Dustin finally lets go, but he doesn't mind, as long as Dustin feels better. Dustin looks embarrassed when he sits back, rubbing his hands fruitlessly across his cry savaged face. He mumbles, "I'm sorry," almost inaudibly while refusing to make eye contact.

"Don't do that," Steve says, and tries to be soft, even though he can hear the hard knife edge sneaking into his voice. "Don't apologize." Dustin's head snaps up, his eyes saucer wide as he stares. Steve frowns, then forces his face back to neutral, afraid Dustin will think the anger is for him. "You don't have to-" He stops, because that's not what he wants to say, tries again. "I don't want you to be sorry for being sad." He feels restless under Dustin's scrutiny, lifts his hands to do...something, then drops them again because there's nothing to do with them. "It's okay to be sad, okay? And you can always tell me about it. I know you've gotta keep some secrets from your mom, but...but not from me, okay?"

There's a long moment of silence, and Steve is just starting to really hate himself for being stupid again when Dustin's face cracks into a tiny smile. "You're really not comfortable with this are you?" But his tone is teasing, almost happy, and Steve thinks what he really means is that Steve did alright for a total loser. Steve smiles back, just a little.

"I don't have a lot of experience, okay? I'm doing my best."

Dustin nods sagely. "Thanks," he says gravely, and reaches out to pat Steve's knee. "I mean it."

Steve tries not to feel uncomfortable, doesn't want Dustin to think it's not okay to open up like this. He forces himself not to clear his throat, or look away, or any of the other things he instinctively wants to do when it's time to show his emotional hand. The impulses seem especially ridiculous with Dustin, who has just shown his hand and the entire rest of the deck to Steve. He smiles instead. "Any time, bud."

When Claudia calls them for dinner a little while later, she doesn't give any indication that she knows something is up, even though Dustin's face is still red, and Steve's sweater looks like he took a hit from a water gun, but after, when Dustin is in the bathroom, she pulls Steve into the kitchen and hugs him, arms firm and motherly around his shoulders in a way he had never experienced before meeting her. "I don't know what it is that's been bothering him," she says into his ear, patting him gently on the back, "And you don't have to tell me, because I want him to keep trusting you, but thank you for taking care of him."

For a long moment, he's not sure what to say, but he thinks that he has never meant anything more sincerely in his life when he hugs her back and replies, “Always.”

 


End file.
